


Dinner for Three

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [56]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyle has an assignation and he hopes Lester doesn't find out about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner for Three

Lieutenant Jon Lyle scraped his fingernails over the ball of his right thumb for what must have been the hundredth time in the last five minutes as he made his way through the crowds thronging Mayfair on a fine summer evening.

He was dressed casually in a pair of loose-fitting, multi-pocketed beige trousers and an open-necked cream shirt, with the cuffs rolled up to display a pair of tanned, muscular forearms. The trousers were loose enough to disguise the bandage on his right thigh which covered a gash in his flesh left behind by their latest visitor from the past, a dinictis, which had possessed sharp claws and an even sharper attitude, coupled with a remarkable resistance to the tranquilliser that Stephen Hart had pumped into it. The thing had come round while they were still transporting it and Lyle had been close enough to cop for a vicious – but fortunately uncoordinated - swipe from one hairy paw before he and Finn had succeeded in subduing the creature. Ditzy had cleaned and stitched the wound, then signed Lyle off active duty for two weeks, regardless of the lieutenant’s protests.

Ten days spent instructing back at Hereford had taken the edge off Lyle’s temper, but the phone call he’d received two days previously had resulted in a harder than usual edge to the lieutenant’s already inventive line in questioning at the end of the regiment’s infamous Escape and Evasion exercises.

Lyle glanced down at his watch and quickened his pace slightly. It wouldn’t do to be late. His leg still ached, courtesy of the infection that had set in, despite the antibiotics the medic had pumped him full of, and he still walked with a slight but noticeable limp, which he hoped wouldn’t draw unwanted questions from the person he was on his way to meet.

As he approached the imposing Georgian frontage of Brown’s hotel, Lyle glanced around with a growing sense of unease. He hadn’t told Lester he was back in London and it would be just his luck to find his lover in the same hotel. The Albermarle restaurant was one of Sir James Lester’s haunts, a fact that had caused Lyle to protest – without success – against Brown’s as a meeting place. He wondered whether that might be the reason for the relentless prickle in his thumbs.

The doorman greeted him with a smile, as did the receptionist, but fortunately Lyle didn’t recognise either of them, but he very much doubted his luck would hold for long.

“Jon Lyle, Julia Denton is expecting me.”

The receptionist smiled and gave him the room number. Lyle took the lift to the second floor and made his way down an upper corridor through a carpet so deep that it could probably conceal the Lost Tribe of Israel without too much difficulty. The door he wanted was halfway down the corridor. Out of habit, Lyle checked to make sure he was unobserved then drew a small electronic device out of his pocket and passed it across the card-reader on the door. The green light came on and Lyle opened the door, moving smoothly and quietly into the room.

The acrid smell of smoke assailed his nostrils, even though a window overlooking the main courtyard was opening. A woman was sprawled out on the bed, eyes closed, but clearly not asleep as she was drawing with enthusiasm on what was certainly not her first cigarette of the afternoon. Dark hair liberally flecked with grey framed a face that could never have been described as pretty, but which would certainly suit a word like interesting. She was in her late fifties, dressed in a garishly coloured but clearly fiendishly expensive silk dress, loose-fitting around an ample figure. Her feet were bare, and well-manicured toenails were painted a violent crimson.

Without opening her eyes, she drawled, “Didn’t they teach you any manners at Sandhurst, darling?”

“Yes, but they knocked them out of us at Hereford,” replied Lyle, equally casually.

A pair of sharp hazel eyes stared up at him out of rings of heavy mascara and a voice made gravelly by smoke said, “There’s a bottle of champagne on ice, Jon. Be a dear boy and do the honours, will you? Then you can tell me what you’ve done to your leg.”

Lyle sighed. Some things never changed. “Yes, mother. It’s nice to see you, too.”

She flashed him a red-lipped smile. “Oh, did I dispense with the social niceties? Never mind. James will be joining us in the restaurant at six o’clock.”

Lyle’s stomach executed a neat swallow dive and for once, he was lost for words, much to the amusement of the woman who’d given birth to him 32 years ago.

Her smile would have caused a mastodonsaurus to scuttle for cover. “Well, you didn’t think I was going to pass up the chance of getting to know the man who’s been dicking my little boy for the last six months, did you?”

Well, so much for avoiding the subject of his sex-life. Lyle popped the cork on the champagne, filled two flutes and took a long, appreciative swallow from his own glass. Amazingly, despite her smoking habit, his mother’s palate remained excellent. She’d have that much in common with his lover, at least. Two minutes in the presence of his esteemed parent and he already needed a drink. The Perrier Jouet Belle Epoque 1996 was very welcome indeed. Maybe after another bottle or two he’d manage to come up with a passable explanation as to why he hadn’t told Lester he was coming to London to meet his mother.

“How’s Harry?” he asked, setting her glass down on the bedside table, next to an almost full ash-tray. He was referring to husband number four.

Julia Denton laughed. “Don’t change the subject, you little sod. I met your boyfriend last night at the Winterton’s reception. Didn’t he tell you? He was charming. Slippery as a fucking eel, and tight as a gnat’s arsehole on the subject of your current employment, but definitely charming.” She took another long pull on her cigarette. “So, you’re up to your armpits in a secret Government project, he’s running it, and no-one’s talking.”

“Sounds about right,” said Lyle, finishing his drink and refilling the glass. “So what’s the word on the streets?”

“That it’s big, and that your lot have been distributing DA notices like confetti. Will that do for a start?”

“You’re retired, mother.”

“Old hacks never retire, you ought to know that by now, darling.”

“Harry’s rich as Croesus and dotes on your delicate size sevens. You hardly need the money.”

“It’s the thrill of the chase, Jon. You ought to know that.”

And he did, that was the problem. According to her, he’d inherited his love of the outdoors and extreme sports from his father. Richard Lyle had been an accomplished mountaineer who’d climbed the highest peaks in Europe by the age of 22, and had scaled Everest without oxygen as past of a Combined Services expedition before he’d died at the hands of an IRA sniper in Belfast. To her credit, his mother hadn’t batted an eyelid when her son had declared his intention, at the age of ten, of following in his father’s footsteps. The fact that he’d made the announcement at his father’s funeral had only been par for the course.

From his mother, Jon Lyle had inherited a fierce independence and a casual disregard, when it suited him, for authority. He had his mother’s eyes and her determination, his father’s love of danger and his step-father’s sense of humour. Bob Thackeray had married his mother two years after the death of Lyle’s father. He and Julia Denton – who had always clung with the tenacity of a pitbull terrier to her own name – had remained married to Thackeray until Lyle had left home to join the army. Lyle still maintained very a close relationship with the retired headmaster who had taken over the upbringing of a headstrong child with good humour and patience. Husband number three, a pompous politician, had been well-connected, but according to his mother his main attraction, a large dick, had rapidly palled when she’d discovered that it rarely remained in his trousers for long. But the divorce settlement had been generous, mainly to prevent a recitation of his extra-marital activities appearing in the tabloids.

Husband number four, Harry Rossington, had come complete with a very large fortune, a self-deprecating sense of humour and a penetrating intellect. Lyle had liked him on sight.

“So when were you going to tell your old mum that you’d developed a taste for shirt-lifting?”

“I was saving it up for discussion at Christmas dinner, or some other suitable gathering,” said Lyle, finally starting to relax.

“Is he a good shag?”

Lyle grinned. “You’re an evil old harridan, have I told you that recently?”

She blew him a languid kiss and exhaled a long stream of smoke. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Under his mother’s penetrating gaze, Lyle felt a blush start to rise up his neck to his cheeks. She laughed in delight and took a long swig of champagne then gestured with her glass for a refill. Her hazel eyes, the mirror of Lyle’s own, rested thoughtfully on him for a moment.

“You’re serious about him, aren’t you, Jon?” She smiled, and this time it was genuine. “So, my little boy’s finally thrown away his address book, has he?”

Lyle shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Maybe.”

“Good. You always were wasted on women with tits a good deal bigger than their brains. Now, are you going to tell me how you two got together, or am I going to have to quiz Sir James on the subject over dinner?”

“It’s classified.”

“I’ll only find out eventually, and you know it.” She flicked the end of her cigarette in the general direction of the ash-tray and fixed her son with a speculative stare.

An hour later, they’d made a start on a second bottle of champagne and Lyle had succumbed to providing edited highlights of the development of his relationship with Lester, carefully omitting all reference to dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures. His mother had listened, made vulgar remarks and almost certainly put two and two together to make ten.

At six o’clock precisely they’d made their way downstairs to reception to find Lester walking in through the main doors, dressed smartly but casually in a dark blue linen jacket, light blue shirt and a pair of exceedingly expensive Italian trousers.

“Lovely to see you again, Julia,” he purred, before slipping his arm around Lyle’s waist and brushing a light kiss across his lips. “Hello, Jon.”

Lester’s eyes held an amused gleam, and he was clearly daring Lyle to respond in kind. The Special Forces lieutenant grinned. He’d always been at his best against superior odds and he wasn’t going to let these two get the better of him. He bent his head to Lester’s and returned the kiss, equally lightly. “Hello, James. I hear you’ve already been threatened with sight of the baby photos?”

“Indeed. Julia informed me she had several shots of your naked arse that I’d no doubt wish to see. Lady Winterton was most impressed.”

An elegant woman crossing the reception area with two small children in tow clearly over-heard that remark and favoured the three of them with a disapproving look, much to Lester’s amusement.

The talk remained light for the first two courses and, to Lyle’s relief, stayed a healthy distance away from his current posting. He was unsurprised to discover that his mother and his lover had several mutual acquaintances in common, and shared a number of prejudices that both of them were equally happy to air. By the time the main course arrived, however, his mother was skirting ever closer to her goal, with a gleam in her eyes that her son recognised all too well. Lester was doing a good job of fending her off, but it was plain that she’d done her homework. It was also plain to Lyle that his mother had something up her sleeve. He just wondered when she’d see fit to spring the trap.

To his surprise, she didn’t, and the closest she came was a few pointed remarks about ‘dinosaurs’ in Government, coupled with a bright red smile and a look of wide-eyed innocence that fooled no one, least of all her offspring.

They eventually repaired to one of the hotel lounges, complete with coffee and cognacs. Julia settled herself into an armchair, looking remarkably relaxed for a heavy smoker who hadn’t had a cigarette for something approaching four hours, and smiled benevolently at the sight of Lester resting his hand lightly on Lyle’s injured leg.

“Does the name Ed Mason mean anything to you?” said Julia, after inhaling the scent of the cognac and taking an appreciative sniff.

Lester raised one eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. “No. Should it?”

“I’m told he runs an interesting line in safari holidays. I’ve been considering one of them myself.”

Lyle felt a shiver run up his spine as his thumbs prickled strongly. “Mother …”

Julia waved her hand airily and promptly changed the subject, refusing to be drawn any further on her remark for the rest of the evening, much to Lyle’s frustration. At 10.30, she declared herself to be dying for a fag and the evening drew to a close.

On impulse, Lyle pulled his mother into hug, muttering, “I have no idea what the hell you’re up to, but be careful.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Well, I’m never good, but I’m always careful, darling. You ought to know that by now.” Her hazel eyes turned serious for a moment. “The same goes for you, Jon.” She turned to Lester. “I like you, James, I really do, but if you hurt him you won’t find that even time itself provides a big enough hiding place. Do I make myself clear?”

Lester met her eyes, his expression every bit as serious. “Abundantly, ma’am.”

Julia Denton smiled brightly, “Then don’t let me keep your from a night of hot sex, boys.”

And with that, she gave them both an airy wave of her hand and sauntered in the direction of the lift, seemingly none the worse for the amount she’d drunk, leaving her son and his lover staring thoughtfully after her.

“I would have been disappointed if she hadn’t issued some sort of warning,” said Lester, with evident satisfaction, as he slipped his hand into Lyle’s and gave it a slight squeeze.

Lyle let out a long sigh. His mother managed to surpass herself on this occasion. “She knows something.”

“She knows lots of things,” said Lester thoughtfully. “And I think we need to find out what. Starting right after that night of hot sex she mentioned. That’s if your leg will stand the pace.”

“I’m Special Forces, sweetie. I’m trained to improvise.”

“Good, because it’s been a long ten days and I’ve missed you, even if you did try to conceal an assignation with a woman from me.”

“Now you’ve met her, are you surprised?”

Lester laughed. “Not really. She slipped me the baby photos when you went to the loo.”

Lyle groaned. He’d have to do some fancy footwork to prevent those snaps ending up on the ‘Embarrassing Moments’ notice board in the ARC’s recreation room. He wondered if a photo of Lester getting changed to go caving would be a sufficient incentive to discretion, but from the look on his lover’s face, he’d probably have to be more creative than that.

Maybe a conversation with Lester’s brother would help redress the balance.


End file.
